Word Is On The Street
by littlemusings
Summary: A series of one-shots and drabbles featured in the Fettuccine 'Verse. III. Kurt will never forget his...accidental...drunken ventures at Malibu Beach. However, despite it all, he was glad he didn't get sunburned.
1. Mister Music Producer

(_Pre-note: _While it is good to read my fic, _I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How To Dance With You_, first, it's not required. But, if you want to know what on earth is going on at some point, take a gander at it! _:)_)

So, I was thinking about my headcanon for my **Dance 'Verse**, which will also be known as the **Fettucine 'Verse **from now on, and decided to compile everything related to my fic, _I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How To Dance With You _into one, big collection of stories. This is going to be _very _randomized, featuring moments ranging from Blaine/Danielle sibling time, Blainangst, Kurtangst, Danuke (Danielle Anderson and Duke Whitely, my two OCs from _INGTH_), and post-INGTH tales (weddings, anyone?). The chapters relating to chapters from _I'm Not Gonna Teach Him _will begin with quotes from the actual story, and the drabble/one-shot following it will be about something pertaining to the quote.

Are you excited? 'Cause _I'm _excited! I love this 'verse so much and I can't wait to continue to explore and dabble in it.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Glee_.

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><p><strong>Word Is On The Street<strong>  
>by <em>littlemusings<em>

a compilation of stories pertaining to the dance / fettucine 'verse

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><p>I. <em>Mr. Music Producer<em>

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><p><em>Duke found Danielle jumping on the bed quietly in her bedroom. Rolling his eyes and closing the door behind him, he stared at her, arms folded, frowning. She was already wearing a pair of black skinny jeans and a loose-fitting white baseball t-shirt with a graphic design of a woman in sunglasses and black, long sleeves. The shirt she always wore back in high school whenever he and Blaine visited Westerville.<em>

- Chapter 6, 'Chasing Pavements'

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><p>Seventeen year-old (<em>almost eighteen, she liked to think<em>) Danielle Anderson was incredibly bored.

There she was, lounging about in her room in her black and white striped Soffe shorts and long-sleeved baseball shirt (her favorite, the one with that Audrey Hepburn-looking chick with the 70s-esque circular sunglasses and the black sleeves), staring at her ceiling. The faces of various actors, K-Pop artists, rock and classic glam-rock (namely one David Bowie) artists looked back down on her, their faces rimmed by the fluorescent lighting of the room. Hands folded over her stomach she bobbed her head along to the soft _thump _of the music playing from her iPod speakers.

When the hell was Blaine coming home? He said that he and Kurt had touched down at the airport two hours ago. _He better not be making out with Kurt at the wheel. That was too dangerous. _

She flipped over to lie on her tummy and stretched out to grab the nearest _Asia Pop (!) _magazine to her and began to read through it. "_Hyun-A Kim of 4-Minute releases new single, "Bubble Pop!", video gets banned in Korea!_"was the headline, and she sighed loudly, throwing it into a corner of her already slightly messed-up room. She pushed her face deeper into her mattress and let out a loud, frustrated, muffled sigh.

The Anderson family's ever-faithful maid, Ellie rapped on the door quickly and poked her head through the slightly open doorway.

"Dani, your mother told me to tell you get dressed because your brother is on his way back with Kurt and his friend," the small woman piped up.

Danielle sat up immediately. "What friend? I thought he was just going to drop Kurt off at home and then we were gonna catch a movie down in Lima with him later on?"

"I don't know, we're just setting up a guest room for his friend. Your mother just got the call."

"Okay," she huffed, getting off her bed. Ellie gave her a smile and leaned against the doorway.

"It's going to be good to have Blaine back home."

"He's home every Christmas," Danielle shrugged. "But…yeah, I'm glad he's home for the summer again, too. It's been boring not having someone to make fun of, you know? Plus, if he's back then Kurt's back, and I like Kurt."

_Liking _Kurt was an understatement. She proclaimed after the first time Kurt ever babysat her in middle school that Kurt was her "heterosexual life partner" (to Blaine's amused surprise) and adored him and doted on him as much as she did her brother.

"Do you want me to iron your black dress, or are you going to wear your jeans, sweetie?"

"Nah, it's okay. I'll wear the black dress already. It's not like you can see that it's wrinkled."

"Oh, honey, Kurt will notice those wrinkles a mile away," Ellie snorted, walking away, laughing.

Danielle rushed to the door and closed it quietly, and then walked back to her closet, arms folded, staring at her monster of a closet (it was of decent size, but in terms of cleanliness…well, this was one of the reasons why her mother was so scared to send her to college out-of-state after the upcoming school year). Her eyes lit up with recognition when she found her favorite black dress jammed underneath her Crawford Country Day uniform and several pairs of jeans and shorts. She pulled it out and held it out in front of her.

She furrowed her eyebrows. "Well, fuck me sideways, it's wrinkled as shit."

Danielle tossed it back in her closet and grabbed a pair of jeans and pulled off her Soffe shorts to pull it on. She looked in her body-length mirror and shrugged. _No need to change my shirt, I think. _She skipped out of her bedroom and poked her head out. She pulled an elastic band from the doorknob and tied her hair in a messy, quick bun and waltzed down the hallway.

"Danielle Marie, what on earth are you wearing?"

She turned around and saw her father, James Anderson, standing behind her in his business attire, arms folded.

"Stuff," she shrugged, and walked towards the stairs.

"You're going to need to change into something nicer for dinner!" she heard him call out as she attempted to slide down the banister. "Get off the banister, Danielle!"

Grudgingly, she jumped off mid-slide and slumped down the stairs. At that moment, the doorbell rang and she immediately dashed to it and opened it without asking who was on the other side.

There, on the doorstep, stood her twenty-one year old brother, Blaine, with his boyfriend, Kurt Hummel, and another—_holy mother of god. _

The man standing behind them was tall, lanky, slightly muscled, and _incredibly hot_, she let her mind think. He was slightly tanned—_damn California boys_—and had a crooked, nice smile. He wore a New York Yankees cap on his head. _Wait, what? _

She couldn't help but stare, but she was knocked out of her stupor when her brother threw his arms around her.

"Dan!"

"Bee!" she gasped, hugging him tightly. They let go and she turned to Kurt. "Kurtsie!"

They hugged as well, and the _incredibly hot _man waved sheepishly. "Hi."

"Dani, this is my friend, Duke Whitely. He's a friend of Kurt and me from UCLA."

"Hell_o_, there, Duke!" she said, smiling to stop herself from blushing. "I'm Danielle."

They shook hands. His hands were soft._ Oh for the love of god, please don't be gay. Please don't be gay. I mean, I wouldn't mind if you were because you'd be my brother and in-another-life lover's friend, but—oh my god._

Her gaydar was zilch. Maybe he wasn't. But he was _fucking gorgeous_, and she had to look away quickly in order to compose herself, and dashed back up the stairs.

* * *

><p>Blaine let out a sigh. "I'm sorry about her, she's a bit…"<p>

"Crazy," Kurt supplied, laughing, hooking his arm with Blaine's.

"Oh, it's alright," Duke Whitely said, laughing.

Danielle peeked over the banister of the stairs as the three men walked towards the living room. James Anderson tapped his daughter's shoulder and she jumped, turning to face her father.

"Uh—daddy! Hi!"

"Dani, what are you _doing_? You're acting so strange! I thought you were excited to have your brother back!" he hissed.

"Uh, yeah! I'll go and do my excited motions right now," she nodded quickly, dashing back down the stairs, face-palming herself. "Jesus, what's wrong with me?" _This is not motherfucking kosher. I will walk my ass to the living room, and _–

"Dani! You've finally come back to us," Kurt exclaimed, clapping his hands together. Danielle took a deep breath, and a grin broke across her face as she hugged her brother and his boyfriend tightly.

"I missed you guys so fucking much," she said happily. She heard a throat being cleared, and she straightened up immediately, flushing furiously when she saw her father standing behind her, arms folded and eyebrows knitted into a frown. "I _mean_, I am _so _happy you are here because I missed you _oh_, so terribly, my dear brother and his lovely partner."

Kurt attempted to repress an unattractive, humored snort. "I have missed you quite a bit, my dear Danielle," he said in his clear, high voice. "I longed for the day I would run through those doors—" he said dramatically, "—and have you back in my arms!" He closed his eyes and clutched at his heart with faux romanticism.

Danielle did a small curtsy and Blaine ran the palm of his hand down his face and stared at his boyfriend and his sister. Danielle took a look at the Whitely guy through her _perfectly adept _peripheral vision, and saw that his mouth was slightly agape.

"Anyway," Mr. Anderson said loudly, clapping his hands together, "Why don't you settle into the guest room, Duke, and let's all get ready for dinner!"

"I second that motion," Blaine added, grinning as he put his arm over his sister's shoulder. As Ellie ran down the stairs to gather Blaine and Duke's things, Dani leaned closer to her brother as Duke and Kurt began conversing, following Ellie up the stairs. Mr. Anderson went to check on something in his study.

"Holy mother of god, where did you find that man?" she hissed in his ear.

"He's a fledgling music producer," Blaine whispered. "He's about three-four years older than me, and he was a senior at UCLA when we were freshmen. He's a really good friend of mine, Duke. Helped Kurt and I out a _lot_, even when he graduated."

"What the fucking fuck, he's _older_?" Danielle grumbled. "What bullshit is this? You never told me about him! Well, I remember that time at Malibu, you know, when you told me someone slipped some Bailey's in Kurt's drink…but…okay. Quick question," she added, lowering her voice, "Gay?"

"He has a _girlfriend_, Danielle," Blaine said, rolling his eyes. "I brought him here to introduce him to mom and dad. I'll be recording in the studio soon, so I'll be back in LA once school starts up again for you."

"Holy _shit_, you've been picked up?" she asked excitedly.

"Not exactly, I mean, he's my manager now, and he's been trying to show off some of my old demos from last year to some recording companies…so we'll see."

"That's amazing!" Danielle exclaimed, pulling her brother in for a hug. Blaine ruffled her hair. "You have a hot manager."

"Don't you dare, I thought you had a boyfriend?" he asked indignantly. Danielle made a face.

"Do not."

"I thought you did."

"Nope."

Blaine frowned. "I thought you said something about a boy taking you to your junior prom?"

"_No_, I said I went with a group of friends, and my friend _Joshua_ and his _mom _drove us. See, this is what you get for prioritizing your happy, wonderful, and possibly kinky gay sex with Kurt in your lovely apartment over talking to me on the telephone—"

"—Shut up!" Blaine laughed, his face turning beet-red, clapping a hand to Danielle's mouth as their father approached them. "Dad."

"Good to have you home, Blaine," Mr. Anderson said gruffly, clapping his son's shoulder. He turned to face his daughter. "Danielle Marie Anderson, I told you to _dress up _for dinner, not gallivant about in your baseball shirts! Your mother will be home soon, and we need to make the dinner reservations!"

"Fine! Fine," Danielle grumbled, pulling out of her brother's grasp. She walked up the stairs, and right before she went up a spiral, she poked her head through the wide banister and mouthed to Blaine, "_Priooooritieeees!"_ Blaine waved his hands to shoo her as he went back to talking to his father.

Laughing to herself, she skipped up the rest of the stairs, and found herself crashing into a slightly muscular chest.

_Oh_.

"Um, hi," Duke Whitely said nervously, waving. Instead of the casual attire he was wearing earlier, he was now wearing skinny slacks, a pair of Oxfords, a black dress shirt, and white suspenders. Danielle shut her mouth when she realized that it was slightly agape and fixed her posture.

"Hello. Sorry about earlier, I drank a bad cup of tea."

_WHAT?_

"Understandable, I know how that feels," Duke said, awkwardly shuffling his feet and scratching his head. His hair was a nice, black-brown color—soft—and possibly soft enough to run through. "I'm Duke."

"Danielle," she said, holding out a hand to him. "Blaine's sister."

"Pleasure to meet you. He's told me about you, naturally. Doesn't shut up about you," Duke laughed, leaning against the banister.

Danielle, at that moment, wanted to shoot her brother in the head, but decided against it, knowing that Kurt and her parents would slaughter her like a pig. "Oh! _Really _now? What has he told you? Nothing…embarrassing, I hope?"

"He _did _tell me that you like K-Pop."

"Why, yes, yes I do," Danielle said proudly. Duke cocked an eyebrow.

"Honestly, it's not my cup of tea. All of the songs sound the same to me."

"I happen to be a very big fan of K-Pop and I don't concur with your statement," she said snappily.

"Yeah, I know that, Blaine told me. Honestly, though, the beats are so electronic _all the time_. I mean, I love how they're trying to modernize the Asian music industry and all of that jazz, but really, it's all nonsensical garbage. The lyrics make absolutely no sense at all."

In that brief moment, Duke Whitely lost 34234255345 cool points in Danielle's book.

"Is that so?" she said quietly, nodding slightly. "Now, if you will excuse me, I shall go and get ready for dinner. It was nice meeting you, Whitely," she said with a huff, and then walked straight for her room, passing by a very amused Kurt Hummel, who saw Duke walk down the stairs confusedly.

"Dani!" Kurt exclaimed, poking his head through her doorway. "I see you lost your loquaciousness upon meeting Duke," he said quietly. Danielle threw a pillow at him and he laughed, ducking away quickly, shutting her door.

_This is war, Mr. Music Producer. You insult my K-Pop, you insult my world.  
><em>

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><p>(<strong>Little Note: <strong>I'm not a big K-Pop fan, but I do listen to it. Eventually, Dani grows out of this little phase ;) This was the start of Danuke's love-hate journey. HAHAHA. Up next? I have no idea.)


	2. Rainbow Marshmallows For Courage!

Here, have some little!Blaine and little!Danielle sibling love.

**Disclamer: **I don't own _Glee._

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><p><strong>Word Is On The Street<strong>  
>by <em>littlemusings<em>

a compilation of stories pertaining to the dance / fettucine 'verse

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><p><strong>II. Rainbow Marshmallows<strong>...**For Courage!**

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><p>"<em>Hot chocolate with rainbow marshmallows. This tradition started when we were kids. Some kids were messing with him at school one time, and I was in kindergarten when I gave him that first mug of cocoa to alleviate his stress and anger. Of course, my mom made it and I added the marshmallows and awesomeness." <em>

- Chapter 11, 'Always'

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><p><em>2003, Westerville, Ohio<em>  
>(Blaine: 9, Danielle: 5)<p>

In her world of crayons, Disney, stuffed animals, sandboxes, and Pixi Stix, Danielle Anderson loved her older brother more than anything. He was the one, when her parents weren't home, or their maid was busy cleaning some room, who comforted her when she stubbed her toe on that stupid bed frame last Monday and climbed on a chair and stole a lollipop from their mother's Halloween stash just to make her feel better. He liked to watch 'The Little Mermaid' and countless other Disney movies, singing every single song with her loudly, to their father's chagrin.

All in all, her 'Kuya' (as their mother told her to call him as a term of endearment, but she forgot to sometimes) was absolutely the best person in the world, and no one could tell her otherwise.

So when she heard little Mikey Schmidt from Miss Applebee's daytime section-A kindergarten class (she was in Ms. Micah's section-B) call her brother a weird name, she wondered – who in the name of Crayola would say such a thing?

"Hey, Danny-elle," Mikey scoffed, walking up to where she was playing in the sandbox. Danielle looked up from her creation and frowned, clapping sand from her hands impatiently.

"Whadda 'ya want, Mikey?" she pouted, folding her arms irritably. Mikey sat on the edge of the red sandbox and shrugged.

"My poppa saw you and your big brother walking around the connie-gress building yesterday with your poppa."

"So what?" she asked defiantly. Mikey shrugged.

"My poppa points your out big bro to be a fag someday," he said simply.

"What's that?" she asked confusedly, her face scrunching up thoughtfully. Mikey rolled his mud-brown eyes and shrugged.

"How 'm I supposed to know? He just says your brother's a fag 'cause he walks around like a girl and sings girly songs."

"But Disney's for everybody," Danielle said confusedly, tucking a stray strand of curly black hair behind her ear. "That's what Kuya Bee told me."

"Not accordin' to my daddy," Mikey sneered. "An' my daddy's always right, 'cause he's a big guy in the connie-gress place. He helps make the laws an' stuff."

"So's my daddy!" Danielle exclaimed angrily. "Why do you gotta go around and call my Kuya a fag when you don't even know what a fag is?"

"You know m' daddy isn't the only one who says Blaine is gonna be a fag. Even my older brother Dean thinks so too, 'cause they're in the same fourth grade class. Says that your brother doesn't play flag football or stuff like that. He says that Coach Regan always lets 'im be the kicker 'cause he can't do anything else during P.E."

"That's 'cause Bee isn't good to be a quarterback or linebacker," she retorted, already getting ready to kick sand in his face. "Even my daddy says he's got the stru-ky-ture or something of a kicker."

"_Structure_," Mikey said, attempting to sound intelligent. "Your brother's a fag."

That was it.

Danielle pulled him towards her and stepped aside as he fell, face-forward into the sand. He immediately sat up, spluttering and spitting sand, tears in his eyes. "You pushed me!"

"No, I pulled you," she said, clapping her hands together and dusting off her plaid uniform skirt. "Now, I dunno what a fag is, but I can tell it's bad, so next time you call my big brother a fag, I'll sock you in the face, Mikey Schmidt!"

"Miss Applebee!" Mikey wailed, pointing towards Danielle, whose eyes widened as the tall, kind, blonde teacher from the daytime section-A kindergarten class walked over, a disappointed gleam in her eyes as she saw Mikey crying in the sandbox, Danielle looking guiltily at him.

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><p>"Danielle Marie Anderson, why did you pull Mikey Schmidt into the sandbox?" her father, James Anderson, asked sternly, looking at her with his arms folded as she sat on one of the kitchen counter stools. Miss Applebee and Miss Micah had called her father's office and he and her mother, Maria, had to pick her up from school for 'bad behavior'. "You know that's not how we deal with problems in this house."<p>

"He was calling Kuya Bee a bad name, daddy," Danielle complained. "I didn't know what it meant, but I knew it was bad. And I wasn't in the house, I was at school."

"It's the same thing, sweetheart."

"What on earth did he call your Kuya?" Maria Anderson said, distraught, her hands on her hips. "He probably didn't mean it."

"No, mommy, he really meant it even though he didn't know what it meant. He said that his daddy and his big brother called Kuya the bad word."

"What word?" James said exasperatedly, collapsing onto another chair, running his hands through his dark, chestnut hair.

"He said an 'f' word."

Maria and James looked at each other uneasily. "Honey…_anak_," Maria began, "There are plenty of words that start with the letter 'f'. It depends."

"I don't wanna say it though, 'cause it's bad for Bee," she pouted. James kept his composure and looked at his daughter gently.

"Honey, if it's that bad, you can say it only once."

"But, daddy…"

"It's okay, Dani. Just say it once."

"Okay…but don't get mad at me, okay?" Danielle sniffed, tears forming in her eyes. "It was…f…f…fag."

Maria and James fell silent. Only Danielle's sniffs were heard in the high-ceilinged kitchen.

They heard a sudden movement outside the kitchen and turned around as the kitchen door opened and their maid, Ellie, entered hesitantly. "Sir, Ma'am, Blaine is home. What should I tell him?"

"Tell him to start his homework already. He has piano lessons at six," James said, his teeth gritted. Danielle looked at him, frightened.

"Daddy, what does the word mean?" she asked in panicky voice. "It's bad, isn't it? I knew it!"

"It's bad, honey. Don't say it, okay?" Maria said, rubbing her daughter's back gently. "Come on, I'm going to make you some hot chocolate."

Danielle hopped off the stool and grabbed her mother's hand as they made their way over to the stove. Maria turned to face her husband, who looked absolutely distressed.

"Baby, go and pick out which colored marshmallows you want in your cocoa," she said, gesturing towards their large, plastic jar of soft, luscious marshmallows. Danielle nodded, rubbed her eyes, and grabbed at the jar, piling the marshmallows little by little in a small bowl. Maria walked over to her husband and sat next to him, gripping his hand tightly.

"I will not let my family be mocked like this," James said defiantly. Maria looked down then looked back up at her husband.

"Maybe he's just in a phase," she said gently, patting his hand. James looked at her in disbelief. "We should just leave him alone for now."

"Alright…hopefully," he mumbled. His grip on her hand loosened. "Maria, I agree. Maybe this is all a phase, the Disney princesses, the lack of interest in football…people change, right? Especially Blaine. We're raising him, right, aren't we?"

"Of course we are," Maria responded sweetly, kissing him on the cheek. "Personally, I think we should let him be and let him decide who he wants to be."

"When I bought _Mulan _for them, I thought he would like the fighting aspect of it all, not Mulan's singing and such…"

Maria rolled her eyes. "…James."

"Okay, fine. It's probably just a phase. We'll just talk to him about this later on," he said hurriedly, dismissing the conversation with a wave of his hand. Maria smiled at him and her eyes widened when Danielle was overfilling the bowl with different colored marshmallows.

"Dani, honey, that's too much!" Maria exclaimed, running over to the five year-old, who was grinning brightly at her mother. "Oh dear."

"It's like the rainbow, mommy!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands excitedly. "See, there's pink, purple, yellow, green…"

"Honey, you're going to have more marshmallows than hot chocolate in your mug if you use all of them."

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><p>Little, nine year-old Blaine was furious.<p>

He had a horrid day at school, to say the least. First, Dean Schmidt had tackled him to the ground during physical education class, dirtying up his PE uniform; second, half of the boys cornered him in the locker room, stealing his math textbook and homework to get the answers; third, they attempted to sling gum in his hair, but he quickly avoided that by scurrying right back into his fourth grade classroom, in the safe haven that was Mrs. Smiths' room.

Unfortunately, Dean Schmidt was in his class.

Dean was the true "bane" (a word he coined for Dean – he found it in a very good book he forgot the title of) of his elementary school life. Throughout the entire geography lesson, Dean was flicking bits of rubber eraser at the back of his head, causing little chunks to be caught in Blaine's dark, messy curls. Blaine tried to maintain his dignity by sitting still and paying attention, but Dean was beginning to get on his nerves.

He asked Mrs. Smith if he could go to the nurse's office. Taken aback, Mrs. Smith nodded, asking him if he were okay, and Blaine shook his head furiously, his face turning red as the chunks of eraser fell from his hair.

The entire class laughed at him, especially Dean, who just could not stop.

Mrs. Smith, he remembered, stared at the class darkly, and merely asked, "Who did this?"

No one confessed. Mrs. Smith looked at Blaine, who merely stared at the floor.

"I will find out who did this," she warned. She crouched down to match Blaine's height, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Blaine, who did this to you?"

Blaine shook his head and shrugged.

"Blaine," Mrs. Smith said slowly, "Will you tell me who did this?"

The small boy blinked and looked around the classroom; Dean began cracking his knuckles.

"Dean Schmidt, I'm sending you to the principal's office," Mrs. Smith commanded, reaching into her desk drawer and pulling out a pink slip.

"Mrs. Smith, I didn't do anything!" Dean said innocently.

"Your actions say otherwise. Come here, now."

And with that, Dean was sent to the principal's office, and let back into the classroom ten minutes later with a smug smile on his face. Blaine looked horrified. As Dean passed by his desk, he left the pink slip on Blaine's, with a note that read: _You'll get it after school_, _fag,_ in a messy scrawl.

Blaine shuddered; he kept his eyes on his geography workbook, and pretended to get back to work.

So, as soon as the bell rang, Blaine shot out of his seat and was the first one to leave the classroom. He heard Dean's voice call out his friends in the hallway, so he quickened his pace and pushed the doors of Saint Joseph Elementary School, hurrying to walk home. Heart beating wildly, eyes stinging, he had to hide and wait behind a large dumpster when Dean and his buddies walked by, calling out his name.

"Hey, Anderson, I know this is how y'get home! Come on out!"

Blaine remained behind the dumpster for a few more minutes. When he was sure they were gone, he ran for his life down the street, and two blocks down to his house.

And now, he was home. And frustrated, since his parents were talking in the kitchen and obviously not caring about him. For the third time that school year. He lay on his bed, body eagle-spread, staring at the ceiling. The contents of his backpack were strewn across his bedroom floor, and his face was scrunched up in a scowl in his attempt to fight back tears.

_Daddy said crying is for sissies. You're not a sissy, Blaine. _

Blaine picked at his curly hair, pulling out the chunks of eraser that didn't fall out earlier that day. He chucked them violently towards the trashcan by his study table, grumbling incoherently every time he missed his target. "This sucks," he whined, and then he moved to hug his pillow, the tears beginning to flow freely down his cheeks and onto his bed sheets. He pushed his face deeper into his pillow to stifle his choking sobs – his father would be furious if he saw or heard him cry.

His bedroom door opened a little, and he nearly shouted, "Go away!"

"Bee?" Danielle called out. Blaine immediately sat up and wiped his eyes on his blazer sleeves, and saw his younger sister standing by his door timidly, clutching two mugs of hot chocolate. "Mommy said I should make you some hot cocoa, too. She wanted Ellie to bring the cups up just in case I dropped them and broke them, but I told her I was a big girl and I wouldn't drop them."

Blaine patted the space on the bed next to him, and Danielle walked carefully over to the bed, handed him a bright blue mug, and sat down next to him. The two siblings sat in silence, sipping their hot chocolate.

"Why were you crying, Bee?" she asked in a small voice, looking at him pleadingly. Blaine shrugged and sipped cocoa, chewing on the marshmallows idly. "I knew you were crying, 'cause I heard you down the hall."

"Did dad hear me?" Blaine croaked; his voice suddenly sounding scared. Danielle shook her head.

"He's downstairs with mommy. They're…talking and stuff, drinking grownup coffee," she mumbled. "Bee…can I ask you something really 'portant?"

Blaine nodded.

"Mommy told me not to say this…but…but—don't get mad at me, 'kay?" she whispered shyly. "But…but what's…what's a f-fag?"

The older boy winced at the word and blinked back tears. "I don't know, really, but the boys in school keep calling me it, and they keep on messing with me and I don't know what to do. They call me 'girly' and 'f-fag' and all of these other really bad names and no one seems to notice 'cause they all like Dean Schmidt and Kevin Johansson and all of them—" He wiped his eyes and cheeks furiously. "They told me it's bad to like Disney and they took my math homework and threw erasers at me—"

"'_Those bitches'_!" little Dani grumbled. Blaine spun around to face her, his eyes wide. Danielle shrunk. "Sorry, Bee, I heard that in a movie mommy and daddy were watching the other day."

"Don't say that," Blaine warned. "It's bad. Dad told me before that's on his list of really bad words."

Danielle shrugged.

"Okay. But I think bad people should be called bad names, because they hurt good people, and that's really not good," Danielle said matter-of-factly. "I pulled Mikey Schmidt into the sandbox durin' playtime today! His face went kablooey, and he got sand in his butt, I think."

"What?" Blaine said in disbelief, nearly choking on his marshmallows. "Don't, Dani, don't do that ever again!"

"He was calling you that f-word, so I pulled him 'cause he was being mean and I don't like it when people say bad things about 'ya."

Blaine bit his lip, smiling at his little sister.

"So's if ever Dean Schmidt does stuff to you ever again, I'll push Mikey into the trash can by the school. If Dean Schmidt throws erasers at your hair, I'll throw pencils at Mikey's butt. If Dean Schmidt steals your math homework, I'll take Mikey's backpack and throw it in the sandbox."

Blaine took his and his sister's mugs of hot chocolate, stood up, and put them on his study table. And that was when he walked up to his little sister and hugged her tightly. "You don't need to do that, Dani. But…but thank you."

"You don' need to thank me, Bumble Bee, 'cause you're my big brother," she mumbled, a tear falling down her cheek. "And I need my big brother to take care of me when he gets older, so I gotta take care of him, first. And remember what the lion learned in _Wizard of Oz_?"

"Courage," Blaine said simply.

"Yeah, that's what you gotta have. I guess I've got that."

"That, you do," he said. Blaine separated from her and smiled. "Wanna watch _The Little Mermaid_ again?"

"Yeah! But then mommy told me you gotta do your homework."

"I did it in class and turned it in already so that they wouldn't steal it tomorrow," Blaine said, his voice sounding more confident.

"We gotta clean your stuff off the floor, first then. I think mommy would get mad if she saw your stuff there," Danielle warned, pointing to the floor. Blaine nodded, and the two siblings stood up together, and began to clean up.

* * *

><p>An hour later, Maria Anderson walked up the stairs and into her eldest son's room to find Danielle and Blaine sitting together on Blaine's mini-couch, singing along to '<em>Part of Your World<em>,' looking like they were having fun, a smile creeping upon her lips.

"Blaine, it's almost time for your piano lessons. Did you finish your homework, sweetie?" she asked. Blaine nodded, and turned back to sing with his sister and Ariel. "You have thirty more minutes, okay? Get ready now," she added. Blaine nodded furiously and continued to watch.

She sighed and turned around, walking back down the stairs.

* * *

><p>(<strong>Little Note: <strong>MY BLAINELLE CREYS. SDLKFJASLFJASF. There you have it, the origin of the rainbow marshmallows and Blaine's usage of the word 'courage' as his mantra. Pppfffttt. My heart.)


	3. Malibu Déjà Vu

_Warnings: _This tale contains underage drinking, profusely used profanities (pppfffttt) sexual references, copious amounts of Klaine fluff, and loud karaoke-esque singing of Katy Perry songs in a cramped minivan. You have been…warned.

I **disclaim** Katy Perry's music and _Glee_. Oh, and California-but that's irrelevant.

* * *

><p><strong>Word Is On The Street<strong>  
>by <em>littlemusings<em>

a compilation of stories pertaining to the dance / fettucine 'verse

* * *

><p>III. <em>Malibu Déjà Vu<strong><br>**_

* * *

><p><em>"…Remember the time Duke accidentally slipped something into your drink during that one Spring Break party at UCLA? Freshman year?" Blaine snorted.<br>Kurt groaned, resting his cheek on the palm of his hand. "I have not forgotten that. I will never go back to Malibu ever again because of that."_

- Chapter 7, 'Civilized and Non-Romantic'

* * *

><p>"No."<p>

"_No _way. Not our thing, sorry."

"Oh, come _on_, guys, it's only about an hour-long drive from here! Like, we're all going to go in Kevin Schroeder's car and then pass Santa Monica via the highway, and then poof, we're there! Malibu! We can party all night long! Schroeder rented a cabana for all of us to hang out in at the beach!"

Blaine made a face, furrowing his eyebrows. "Duke, I don't think that's a good idea; Kurt and I are underage—"

"Kurt told me about your many drinking ventures in high school," Duke scoffed, adjusting his cap.

"Two! I don't think that's very many!" Blaine said defensively, holding his hands up. "And I'm not very good at holding my alcohol, so…"

"Yes, he's terrible. Worse than Charlie Sheen when you piss him off," Kurt interjected disdainfully. "Trust me, I'm his boyfriend, Desmond."

Duke's smile drooped off his face. "You guys won't have to drink, you know. And stop calling me Desmond!"

Kurt snorted. "Duly noted, but honestly, knowing _Blaine_—"

"—Excuse me!" Blaine's mouth opened a little.

"Sorry, babe, but you drink copious amounts when given to you, and I don't think that's a very good idea."

"Touché."

"This is ridiculous; you'll be the only guys in our dorm building who won't be going. I _would_ use the 'there will be hot girls' card, but it obviously wouldn't work."

"Exactly."

Twenty-one year-old Duke rolled his eyes and sat up in his seat in Starbucks, eyeing his two, eighteen year-old friends. "I'll watch you guys. Come on, it's Spring Break of your freshman year. Live a little, guys, it'll be fun!"

"I think I should go; I have to finish making my project proposal for class next week so we can spend the next few days marathoning _The Bachelorette_. Also, I am feeling a strong sense of high school related _déjà vu_, and it's making me uncomfortable," Kurt said loudly, standing up. Blaine looked up from his tumbler of medium drip at his boyfriend with his soft, hazel eyes. "What?"

"Your project proposal is due at the end of the semester, and Duke's right—we're in college now. We should…you know, experience life."

"Wasn't a gay bar in high school enough for you?"

Duke's eyes widened and he nearly choked on his toffee nut latte, not believing what he had heard. "Wait, what, _gay bar_? _Blaine_?"

"Nothing!" Blaine said frantically, "It was nothing. We were…um…there for a little soiree."

"Soiree, my ass," Kurt scoffed. "Blaine, I'll see you back at the dorm building."

Blaine leaned forward and grabbed Kurt's hand. "Come on, please? Just this once."

"Blaine, going to Malibu for a Spring Break party is so cliché, and we've seen enough teen movies to confirm that 'super-fun' beach parties are incredibly _overrated_."

Kurt stared into his boyfriend's pleading eyes, the palpable eagerness hitting him in the face like a kangaroo. Letting out a sigh, he said, "Fine."

Blaine and Duke hi-fived each other and Kurt sat back down next to Blaine.

"Duke, once this little trip goes underway, you and I will be on serious Blaine Watching Duty."

"I'm not his babysitter."

"I don't need a babysitter!"

Kurt shot him a death glare, and Duke cringed in his seat. Blaine pursed his lips, flushing red. "Fine, fine, fine."

"Oh, man, this is going to be interesting," Blaine grinned, rubbing his hands together.

Kurt grimaced. "If the majority of my body gets sunburned, I will wring your neck, Desmond Jude Whitely."

* * *

><p>"LAST FRIDAY NIGHT! YEAH, WE DANCED ON TABLETOPS, AND WE TOOK TOO MANY SHOTS! I THINK WE KISSED, BUT I FORGOT!"<p>

"_LAST FRIDAY NIGHT!_"

"YEAH, WE MAXED OUR CREDIT CARDS, AND GOT KICKED OUT OF THE BAR, SO WE HIT THE BOULEVARD!"

"LAST FUCKING-FRIDAY NIGHT!" Duke supplied.

"WE WENT STREAKING IN THE PARK, SKINNY-DIPPING IN THE DARK, THEN HAD A _MENAGE-A-TROIS!_"

"LAST FRIDAY NIGHT!"

Kurt shifted uncomfortably in the van in a vain attempt to avoid his boyfriend's flailing hands as he led the in-car karaoke rendition of Katy Perry's _Last Friday Night_, one of Blaine's all-time favorite songs. As soon as it started playing on the radio—Kurt had _no _idea why Kevin Schroeder had this song on his 'Road Trip' mix—Blaine couldn't help but sing along, and everyone—all ten people—in the van obliged and began singing along. Kurt would have joined, but…

_It is too fucking early. Who the fuck wakes up at five in the morning anymore? I thought the beach was only an hour away,_ Kurt thought grumpily, trying to sleep by the window. _HA, "ménage-a-trois," as if, Blaine._

"Kurt, come on! 'Peacock' is next!" Blaine exclaimed, quite literally bouncing in his seat. He gave Kurt a very wet raspberry on the cheek—thank god, not the ear—to Kurt's surprise.

"BLAINE!" Kurt exclaimed, laughing as he wiped Blaine's saliva from his cheek in faux disgust. "OH MY GOD. WHAT THE HELL?"

Blaine pouted. "Sing with us!"

"Come on, Kurt!" Kevin shouted from the drivers' seat as they entered the highway. "You're always singing in the communal showers anyway!"

"I'm willing to bet that someone spiked everyone's coffee—but mine—with some sort of hallucinogen. We're not at a karaoke bar! We are not at the beach yet!" Kurt groaned, pulling his hood over his head. Blaine rolled his eyes and shouted,

"Turn up the volume, Kev!"

With that, Katy Perry's beloved hit, _Peacock_, began booming and thudding through the van's speakers.

"I WANNA SEE YOUR PEACOCK-COCK-COCK, YOUR PEACOCK-COCK!"

"Jesus, Blaine!' Kurt snorted, bursting out in laughter as his boyfriend sang the song right in his face.

In that split-second, it seemed that everyone's face—but Kevin's, of course—turned around to face him, shouting the words "peacock-cock-cock" in his face.

Blaine somehow shifted out of his seat and sat down on the car floor, squeezing in between Kurt's legs and the line of seats in front of him, hugging Kurt's knees.

"WORD ON THE STREET: YOU'VE GOT SOMETHING TO SHOW ME, ME, MAGICAL—"

"—COLORFUL, MISTER MYSTERY!" Kurt sang back, bursting with laughter. Everyone in the car cheered.

By the end of the song, Blaine somehow ended up on Kurt's lap ("My leg was cramping", "Excuses, excuses," their friend, Tanya laughed) and Duke had Kurt's hoodie on.

And it was only five-fifteen in the morning.

* * *

><p>They finally arrived at the beach. As the group piled out of the van, Kurt groaned and stretched, bending over to touch his toes. Blaine stood next to him, gallantly holding Kurt's Jacobs bag and duffel bag along with his own, balancing on the balls of his feet. Kurt stood up and sighed, staring at the setting before them.<p>

"There are people here already?"

"Malibu, babe," Blaine grinned, kissing Kurt's cheek.

"_Overrated_, babe," Kurt said coyly, pulling him in for a full kiss, but Duke popped up between them.

"Make out in the cabana later when we're all boozing. Let's go!" Duke whooped as they all walked onto the sand. Kurt grimaced as his shoes touched the top of the sand, but Blaine coaxed him forward. Sighing, Kurt and Blaine trudged through the sand hand-in-hand and towards a large, wooden cabana near the beach entrance.

"What the hell are we going to do today?" Kurt whispered to Blaine, who merely shrugged.

"I have no idea, but knowing Kevin and Duke, we're going to have quite a bit of fun."

"Their definition of '_fun_' is _not _the same as mine. And shit, how many people are they planning to fit in this cabana? It's huge!"

"Oh, some more people from UC are going to drive in later."

"Why couldn't we have done that?" Kurt grumbled as they put their bags down by one of the tables. Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt's waist.

"We're the ones spearheading the battle," he said simply, laying a soft kiss on the crook of Kurt's neck. Kurt let out a sigh and turned around to kiss Blaine back.

"AS I SAID, MAKE OUT AND HAVE YOUR LOVELY SEX LATER," Duke shouted from afar. Blaine and Kurt jumped apart, blushing and laughing. "DON'T FORGET TO BE SAFE, CHILDREN!"

* * *

><p>If there was one thing Kurt Hummel hated, it was the sun beating down on him like a monstrous, radiating enigma. He remained under a very large umbrella, adorning a cardigan, white v-neck shirt, board shorts, a pair of dark blue Ray Bans, and copious amounts of SPF 100+ (he loved the existence of such a high SPF) rubbed all over his body. He watched as Blaine played a fun game of beach volleyball with the friends they had come there with.<p>

Oh, and did Blaine look _sexy_ in his board shorts and topless…ness. He couldn't help but stare at his boyfriend's taut, bronze-like muscles and mop of curly hair. He had the right, of course—hence the term, '_boyfriend_'.

"Go Blaine!" Kurt shouted, clapping his hands. Blaine looked over and winked at his boyfriend. Unfortunately, this distraction led to him being hit on the side of the head with the volleyball. He was promptly knocked down onto the sand.

"Blaine! You okay, man?" Duke shouted, running to him. Panicking, Kurt took a deep breath and ran out from underneath the comfort of the umbrella—not forgetting to put a cap on his head.

When he finally kneeled down next to Blaine, cradling his head, he panicked, not knowing what to do. Blaine's eyes were shut, but he was breathing.

"Blaine," Kurt said slowly. "Blaine, babe, wake up. Oh my god, he's not waking up!'

"Jesus, someone call an ambulance!" Duke said, panicked. Kurt frowned and stared at his boyfriend, who burst into a fit of laughter.

"Damn it, Blaine!" Kurt shouted, smacking his shoulder. Blaine sat up, rubbing the side of his head gingerly.

"'S okay, I'm okay!" he said loudly, holding two thumbs up. Everyone cheered collectively. Kurt rolled his eyes and pushed Blaine back down on the sand.

"Two can play at that game, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel."

Kurt stuck his tongue out and folded his arms, standing up and looking down at his boyfriend playfully.

In that split second, before he could stop what was about to happen, he found himself being pulled down onto the sand…by his legs. a

"SHIT! NO!" Kurt screamed as he fell on his bottom onto the peppery ground. Specks of sand jumped into the air, scattering all over his cardigan. Blaine clapped to himself, guffawing louder than anyone around them.

And then, there was more sand.

Sand all over Kurt's face, sand dumped over Blaine's head, sand being shoved down someone's board shorts, and more.

The two of them tumbled around in the sand, not giving a damn that everyone was watching, laughing and smiling. Blaine tossed Kurt's cardigan aside and kissed him squarely on the lips. Several wolf-whistles emitted from the general direction of their friends and Blaine stepped off, dusting himself off. Kurt did the same and rolled his eyes.

When he realized that his skin was obviously exposed to the sun, he panicked and hurried back to the safety of his umbrella.

"I THINK I GOT SUNBURNED! I SWEAR, IF I GET SKIN CANCER, I WILL SKIN YOU ALL ALIVE."

"I'd gladly donate my skin to you, babe!" Blaine shouted back as he was tossed the volleyball.

"I DON'T THINK SO!"

"Come on, you love me!"

"I do! But I hate sunburns more than I hate people comparing me to Liberace and porcelain goods!"

But, he loved that he could show his love to Blaine in public, among people who _weren't _like the Neanderthals at McKinley, and the homophobes who always pushed them around.

* * *

><p>The day drew on and soon became night. The smell of delicious barbecue wafted through the air, and soft music was playing as the sun began to set. Arielle, Tanya's girlfriend, was setting up the bonfire with Kevin and some other people from The UCLA School of Performing Arts—people Blaine knew from various classes, and some of Duke's friends.<p>

Kurt laid his head on Blaine's shoulder after they took their seats on a log by the fire, a large blanket wrapped around the both of them.

"You know, today wasn't so bad," he whispered as Blaine snuggled closer to him. "Despite wanting ten bottles of Tylenol and the like after a five in the morning Katy Perry performance in a cramped minivan, getting sand all over my body, and salt water in my hair…I'd like to say that today was absolutely perfect."

"Anything else in particular?" Blaine asked curiously, grabbing Kurt's hand gently.

"Got to spend the day with you," he mumbled back in response, exhausted. "Despite my hate of the sun's ultraviolet rays."

"You know, your dad _did _say that you should get more sun."

"What my dad doesn't know won't hurt him," Kurt giggled.

On time as always, Duke showed up in front of them, holding out two bottles of Coca-Cola. "Here you guys go! While some of the guys, gals, and I chug down some good ol' bottles of Heineken and whatnot, here are your soda pops."

"Kurt doesn't drink Cola," Blaine pointed out. Duke shrugged, winked at Blaine—who looked back at him confusedly—and unceremoniously handed the bottles to them. The pair settled out of their snuggle-fest and Kurt stared at his bottle indignantly.

"This will go straight to my thighs."

Blaine nudged him slightly. "Come on, just this once."

Kurt let out a sigh and nodded. He took a swig of the bottle and licked his lips. "Has a weird taste."

"It's coke," Blaine laughed. "How could it taste weird?" He took a swig of his own.

Five minutes later, Kurt was demanding another bottle from Duke, who only obliged. Blaine attributed this to the sugar in the drink—because Kurt was acting a bit…more hyper than usual, and highly peculiar.

"Blainey, love me," Kurt whispered after his third full bottle of Coca-Cola, wrapping his arms around Blaine, attempting to dig one of his hands down Blaine's board shorts. Blaine let out a yelp and moved away quickly.

"Kurt, are you—oh my god," Blaine groaned running a hand down his face. Kurt gave him a pouty look, his face getting redder. "Kurt, you're drunk. Oh my god."

"Not drunk, let's go back to the van," Kurt giggled, scooting closer to his boyfriend. Blaine held Kurt by the shoulders, trying to stop laughing.

"GODDAMN IT, DUKE, DID YOU GIVE HIM BEER?" Blaine could now smell Kurt's breath—hot, fiery, and reeking of alcohol. He saw Duke jump behind Kevin, who was laughing maniacally.

"Bla-a-a-a-aine," Kurt whined, bouncing on the log. Blaine kept his boyfriend a short distance away, laughing more and more than ever. "We haven't gone past the equator or done any travelling or aaaannyyything, anything since last we-e-e-e-ek!"

The music started playing louder, and everyone began dancing. Blaine sighed. He would deal with Duke later. He stood Kurt up and let the taller boy lean on him, which was quite a workout for Blaine.

"Easy does it, Kurt," Blaine whispered, laughing. Kurt pulled away from Blaine and started to dance spastically on the sand.

"Blainey, come on!" Kurt exclaimed, pulling Blaine closer by the hips. "You know you want this," he said gesturing to his nether regions. Blaine snorted and kept on dancing with his boyfriend.

"Not now," Blaine countered, winking. Kurt sloppily kissed Blaine on the lips, and Blaine kissed back, pulling away before anything happened. Duke hopped by, trying to avoid Blaine.

"You're going to get it when we go back to school," he snorted, "Coaxing my boyfriend to do what he didn't want me to do."

"Just letting him live a little," Duke winked. Blaine aimed a kick at Duke.

"I swear, Whitely—I will burn your massive collection of Yankee memorabilia," Blaine retorted. Duke gave him a hi-five, laughing, going back to dance with his girlfriend, Janine, who was from the School of Musical Theater. Kurt nodded heavily in response.

"Kiss me again."

Blaine kissed him fleetingly. Kurt pouted again.

"That was a small kiss. You're making me sad. Like Bambi," he whined loudly. He started tearing up. "I cried so hard when those hunters shot his mommy, Blaine," he cried out, thrusting his arms around Blaine's neck. Blaine nearly fell backwards onto the sand supporting his boyfriend. He didn't know how Kurt could go from an _extremely _hot vixen to an adorable young man sobbing over a fictional, animal character, but hey, he loved Kurt.

"Come on, I'll take you to the—"

Kurt promptly vomited on Blaine's feet.

* * *

><p>"No. Headache, can't," Kurt croaked, reducing himself to the fetal position as soon as he set foot into the van the next morning. Blaine, who was still reeling from the night's events, rubbed his boyfriend's back gently and handed him a Tylenol and bottled water. Kurt took it graciously and chugged the bottle down, and then Tanya handed Blaine a tumbler of coffee for Kurt.<p>

"I will castrate you where you stand, Desmond Whitely," Kurt said loudly as Duke climbed into the second row of van seats. Blaine rolled his eyes. Duke smiled sheepishly and sunk down into his chair, his own head aching like mad. The people who had gone with them the morning before were now taking other cars and vans back to the UCLA campus, so there was plenty of room for Kurt to lie his head down on Blaine's lap.

"I am so sorry for…blowing chunks all over your feet, that was terrible of me; the last time I did that was to Mrs. Pillsbury-Schuester back in high school, and oh my god, Blaine, I'm so sorry—"

"—Don't worry about it."

"The internet phrase, 'tequila makes me a dirty slut' has an all-new meaning for me now," Kurt groaned, nuzzling his face in the softness of Blaine's cotton-white t-shirt.

"Except it wasn't tequila," Duke interjected. Kurt held up a finger shakily, and Duke quieted immediately. The van started its way towards the highway.

"What was I like, drunk?" he mumbled, arm over his eyes.

Blaine shrugged. "A bit sexually frustrated, if you don't mind me saying. And emotional over the name 'Bambi.'"

"Jesus," Kurt whimpered. "Oh, it's way too bright. Remind me to castrate Duke and throw his carcass in the ocean."

"You ever going to forgive him, babe?" Blaine whispered. Kurt opened an eye.

"Maybe. But I'm never coming back to Malibu. Ever. Again."

"At least you didn't get sunburned!"

* * *

><p>(<strong>Little Note: <strong>Oh god, what have I done? I was supposed to be finishing up the personal statement for my college applications...and then I got distracted. Tee hee, priorities. Also, I am quite the cockblocker. I pride myself on that. Yay!)


End file.
